Old Habits
by Rensong
Summary: Some things can be broken a lot easier than you would think; old habits are not one of them.


_Authors Notes:  
First and foremost, I actually found a beta for this one! Words cannot express how happy this made me. Thank you, Jae! Any mistakes left are totally mine, and if you point them out, I'll fix them as soon as I can._

_Second, the lack of commas is intentional - I was going for a rambley inner monologue kind of flow; hopefully I succeeded at least in part._

_Lastly, this story is purely from the movie verse as I've never read any of the comics; I have, however, seen the movie at least six times, two of which were in the theater. :D_

_Disclaimer: Not mine. I think Iron Man belongs to Marvel, and the movie rights to Paramount._

* * *

It's easy to fall back into the habit of drinking too much and not sleeping enough. They both help him block out the memories – of the cold and the dark and the one man he wanted to save but couldn't; of the two fathers he lost because of greed, one to the other, willing and unwilling. He doesn't wonder if it's his fault, because he knows it is.

So he drinks, and he works, and he tries not to sleep because sometimes the nightmares are real.

...

It's not as easy to fall back into bed with a new girl every night. He tries, but their voices sound wrong now; when they say his name, it's always too high, too unconcerned, too sex addled. He thinks he knows what he wants, but he's not sure what he's looking for - like he's trying to paint the sunset and he's color blind; shades of gray trying to capture the nuisances of reflected light through the atmosphere.

So he stops falling as often (though never entirely, because even if he doesn't know what he's looking for, he can't stop trying to find it) because he's not sure he can risk it anymore now that there is no one to catch him. Iron Man can take a lot of damage, but he's only human and there's only so many head injuries he can risk before his genius is threatened (not to mention his boyish good looks), and then where would the world be?

...

They're on one of the top floors of one of the most secure buildings in the world, a group of mere humans arguing about the same things over and over again (so pretty much the norm for your average board meeting, which is why he does his best to avoid them). While they argue, he day-dreams about using one of his repulsors – on the lowest setting, of course – and blasting them into the wall on the other side of the room.

So he doesn't see it coming. Of course he doesn't – he's not a superhero at the moment, just another department head who made the mistake of actually going to one of those damned board meetings in order to discuss his future plans for the arc reactor as a clean source of power.

Then there's a pop sound and suddenly it feels like _he_ is the one who has just been blasted . He wonders why he's on the floor and why it's suddenly so hard to breathe. His chest hurts and for a moment he's afraid that the arc reactor has stopped working and that he's going into cardiac arrest because that is a feeling he has gotten _way _too familiar with over the last few months.

He looks down and is relieved to see it glowing blue through the fabric of his dress shirt, but then he notices the darker stain next to and slightly above it, and he tastes blood.

He manages one pained, heart-felt "Oh, shit," before his vision fades and everything goes dark.

...

What he remembers next comes in flashes: sirens, people talking, bright lights flashing in front of his eyes. It's all so similar to what happened five months ago that the two ordeals merge together in his mind and he fights to stay conscious because he's terrified he'll wake up back in that cave if he doesn't.

It's a losing battle, and he knows it. Enough so that he's tempted to stop fighting all together because anything is better than waking up back in Afghanistan, even if it means not waking up at all.

There's a voice, though, loud and insistent and impossible to ignore, breaking through the pain and the drugged haze and the confusion of too many people talking at once. It says his name, and he knows that voice - he _knows_, because that's _it_, that's what he's been trying to find.

And just like it did the first time he was so close to death - back in that cave with little hope of rescue - it gives him the incentive to keep fighting, because more than anything he wants to hear it again.

_Tony, stay with me._

He can do that.

...

He jerks awake because, these days, that's kind of his default setting. He regrets it almost immediately, because the action causes a rather sharp, stabbing pain to radiate from his collarbone. His muscles tense automatically, which of course makes things worse, and he mutters a few colorful curses as he tries to force his body to relax.

The pain fades (a little), so he can focus a bit more on everything else.

Assessment one – he's in a hospital, _not _a cave. He has never been so happy to see sterile white walls and smell that oh-so-welcoming mix of bad food and antiseptic.

Assessment two – he's alive. At least, he's pretty sure he's alive. He makes a move to pinch himself, only his arm doesn't want to move.

Assessment three – his right arm is strapped to his chest. Well that's inconvenient; he just got that shoulder to _stop _aching whenever he starts working on a project that requires hammering.

Assessment four – Pepper Potts is asleep in his lap.

Okay, so technically she's asleep in the chair next to his bed, with her head pillowed on her arms, which are only just barely touching his thigh, but she is _almost _in his lap, so that's what he's going to tell everyone. And tease her about once she wakes up.

So, like any red-blooded male, he takes advantage of the opportunity to have a nice long look without fear of retaliation.

Assessment five – Pepper looks like crap.

He can't, admittedly, see much with her face smushed into her arms, but he can tell that her hair is a mess and it looks like she's been wearing the same suit for a few days running. Considering her usual ability to look almost completely unruffled in any situation (seriously – from meetings with senators to giant robots trying to kill her, she'll take it all without so much as a flinch or a hair out of place), her less than pristine appearance says a lot.

(Part of him is ashamed that he's the only one who can make her cry, but another part of him – the part that he's been using a lot more since Afghanistan – is so very grateful to her for being willing to cry for him in the first place).

He briefly debates whether or not to wake her. On the one hand, she's probably been keeping vigil here since... whatever it is happened and needs the sleep. On the other hand, the fact that she's here suggest that he was the one she was keeping vigil over, so letting her know he's still alive might make her feel better.

Also, she's the only one who can tell him why his shoulder and chest hurt like a son of a bitch and why he's stuck in the hospital again. Not that he's complaining, really – it's a far cry from that damned cave, and judging from the bigger-than-average cots, tasteful window coverings (thick enough to discourage paparazzi), and the large plasma TV on the wall, they gave him the hospital equivalent of a VIP suite (ever wonder where all the money from outrageous hospital bills go? Well, now you know). It would still be nice to know why there's another hole in his chest, though.

So, in true Tony Stark fashion - and his inability to let sleeping dogs lie – he prods her shoulder with his good arm.

"You look like hell, Potts."

She jerks awake – kind of like he did a few minutes ago – and he notices that her eyes are, indeed, red and swollen like someone who has spent far too much time crying.

"Tony," she says and then her arms are around him, hugging him gently but firmly, mindful of his injured chest and shoulder. She may look rough around the edges, but her hair smells like hotel soap so he assumes that Rhodey or Happy was here long enough to convince her to take a shower in the in-suite bathroom.

He hugs her back as best he can with one arm, smirking as he says, "Still got a few tears left for your old boss, huh?" and her watery laughter next to his ear is the sweetest thing he's ever heard.

She pulls away, wiping rather ineffectively at her face. "Of course not, Mr. Stark," she responds, falling back into the regular banter routine in an attempt to hide how worried she was. "My allergies have been acting up."

"Uh-huh," he says, quite happy to follow her lead. "Your allergies are acting up. In an almost sterile hospital room that is cleaned 10 times a day."

She sniffs, the picture of unconcern (or as best she can manage with red eyes and messy hair). "Must be the industrial cleaner they use."

"Of course," he nods. Then, dropping the bantering tone, he takes her hand from where it's resting lightly on the side of the bed. "Thanks for being here, Potts."

She smiles, and he can almost see the morph from Miss Potts, Mr. Starks assistant, to Pepper, the woman Tony probably trusts more than anyone else in the world. "Where else would I be, Tony?" her smile turns smug, and she continues. "You're hopeless without me."

"True." He grins. "And I'd hate for you to have to go through the trouble of training a new boss after all the effort you've put into this one." He doesn't release her hand.

"It would be a shame." She doesn't seem to mind. "You were almost on time for a meeting for the first time in… well, ever."

"Yeah, and then look what happened." This is what they do, joke about all his near-death experiences, because if they don't they'll go insane. "See if I ever let you talk me into showing up for a meeting again. Nothing more dangerous than a room full of back-stabbing bureaucrats."

Pepper almost cracks a smile at that. She tries to hide it, but Tony Stark is nothing if not observant (at least when it comes to his assistant). "As much as I'm sure you would love to blame the bureaucrats, Tony, the shot came from the roof of one of the buildings across the street."

"So that's what happened." Just what he needed, another person trying to kill him. "He was the head of some super powerful terrorist group, right? Looking to get rid of Iron Man once and for all?"

Pepper straightens her shoulders, releasing his hand so she can place hers primly in her lap, the snarky assistant once again. "Actually, _she _was a disgruntled former employee who lost her job when you shut down the weapons manufacturing plants. Alyssa Lewis, 36, PhD in computer science with a focus on artificial intelligence. She was one of the doctors assigned to help with the development of the AI for a self-navigating Smart Bomb."

"I was taken out by a _computer geek_?" It was almost insulting.

"Says the man who flies around in a giant, computerized metal suit blowing up terrorist outposts." Touché, Potts. "She was computer geek with Black Ops training if that helps any. She was a member of an Army Special Force team for several years before being honorably discharged five years ago, when she was almost immediately hired by Stark Industries."

Black Ops? Impressive. Black Ops personnel don't often miss. Or get caught. Hey, wait a sec...

"I should be dead. Why am I not dead?" Not that he was complaining.

Pepper, unruffled-ness (and yes, that was totally the technical term for it) firmly back in place, told him. "A bee, sir."

Very rarely had Tony Stark ever been struck dumb. He had a witty response for everything, from allegations tossed at him by the press to unforeseen run-ins with one of his many one-night stands. He considers it part of his genius, never being at a loss for words because, really, it's not like they go anywhere or anything. They're always in your brain, and he happens to use more of his than the average person.

And yet the only words he could seem to find were the same ones Pepper had just told him.

"A bee," he parrots back. If he could see his own face, he's pretty sure it would look surprised and slightly confused.

"A California Yellowjacket, to be exact. One stung her just as she was taking aim and getting ready to pull the trigger. It would seem that Ms. Lewis is highly allergic, and the security team found her still on the roof going into anaphylactic shock about two minutes later."

Tony Stark owed his life to an insect. Now that _was _insulting.

Unable to cover his face with his hands in a proper show of humiliation, he slumps back as far as the bed will let him. " 'Iron Man Indebted to an Insect.' I can see the headlines now." He never did like bugs.

Pepper smirked. "Not quite, sir." She shifts slightly to grab the newspaper that had been sandwiched between her leg and the arm of the chair she was sitting in. Opening it, she spreads it out across his legs where he can see it clearly.

He hasn't made the headlines (something which he is alternately relieved and slightly offended by), but he has made the front page. In one of the sideline articles he reads:

_**SHOOTING AT STARK INDUSTRIES**_

_Mechanical Savant Tony Stark is still in the hospital tonight after a shooting at one of his company's offices late Tuesday afternoon._

_Tony Stark, CEO of Stark Industries, quite literally thrust himself further into the public eye last May when he admitted to being the brain behind (and the body beneath) the cyborg-like hero, Iron Man._

_It is not yet known if Stark's alter ego was the reason for the attack, and details on the situation are not yet being released to the media. Lt. Colonel James Rhodes, Stark Industry's chief military liaison, stated in a press conference earlier today that Tony Stark remains in stable condition at Long Beach Memorial Hospital._

No mention of Black Ops trained assassins or disgruntled employees and, more importantly, no mention of bugs. In fact, there was really no mention of much of anything.

He checks the calendar on the wall, then looks back at his assistant. "You've kept this quiet for almost three days?" Pepper, still with that self-satisfied smirk, nods. "Potts, I could kiss you!"

"Only if I let you, sir."

He raises an eyebrow. "Is that an offer, Potts?" He flirts because that's what she expects, and she's going to roll her eyes at him because that's what they always do. It's how this relationship works, full of innuendo and put-upon competence.

Only she doesn't roll her eyes this time. Instead, she unfolds, slouching against the back of the posher-than-usual hospital chair. The competent, self-assured assistant is gone, and a weary, wrinkled Pepper sits in her place. She looks like she hasn't slept in days, and for all he knows she hasn't. So he drops the innuendo – his heart really isn't in it anyway – and lets a bit of his own world-weariness show through.

"You should go home, Potts; get some sleep." She opens her mouth to protest, so he continues before she can. "Seriously, Pepper. I'm not going anywhere." He doesn't ask her to stay because that would be selfish and unnecessary. That doesn't stop him from wanting to, though, because she's all he has and he doesn't want to give that up, even for a moment.

She looks at him, face torn between frustration and annoyance. But then she stands to leave, and a tiny piece of him crumbles because he's so fucking tired of being alone. He doesn't let it show, though, because Pepper deserves better than that (better than _him_) and if you've spent enough of your life hiding it becomes second nature after awhile.

But this is Pepper Potts we're talking about, and he should've learned by now to expect the unexpected, because she doesn't leave. Instead she takes off her jacket, kicks her shoes under the chair and pulls her hair into a sloppy ponytail using the hair tie she had around her wrist. Then she lifts his left arm high enough to avoid getting tangled in the IV, pushes at his side with a muttered 'shove over' and gets _into _the bed with him, her front pressed against his left side, arm around his waist and her head on his good shoulder.

"I think I can sleep just fine right here."

He's shocked enough to remain speechless for a full thirty seconds before he smirks. "I don't think this is in your contract, Potts."

"I'm considering it an investment in my future. You've almost died three times in the last eight months, and since I just put a down payment on a new Tesla Roadster, it's in my best interest to make sure you don't go for number four without a damned good reason, because no one else could afford me at this point."

"There are so many things I could say-" She cuts him off with a particularly vicious jab to his ribs.

"Say _any _of them and the bug incident goes public tomorrow."

He lets it go. Not because of the threat (though, admittedly, he would rather keep that little tid-bit from making it to the presses, because seriously, he owes his life to a _bug_?) but because he's alive and Pepper is warm against his side and he wants to stay here, _right here_, in this moment for as long as he can. The bed is a little too small for more than one person, but he doesn't care because that just means they have to lie closer, and his shoulder is throbbing in time with the beat of his heart which is going _way _too fast at the moment, but he'll take the pain because he never, ever imagined he would make it to this place, and now that he has, he's loath to leave it again anytime soon.

He soaks it in for a few minutes, with Pepper already half asleep at his side. He is who he is, though, and he wouldn't be Tony Stark if he didn't try and get a rise out of her.

"A Tesla Roadster, Potts? How very eco-friendly of you."

"Just doing my part to Save the World, Tony," she mutters into his chest.

He hears her say his name, and it feels like coming home.

"Now shut up and go to sleep."

Yes ma'am!

...

He doesn't need to fall into bed anymore, but that doesn't stop him from falling. In fact, he's been falling all along and he just didn't realize it. He doesn't mind, though, because even if there is no one left to catch him, she's still there to pick him up and help put together the pieces.

...

...

END

* * *

Tesla Roadster: a very fast, very expensive, all electric sports car. More information can be found at en .wikipedia wiki /Tesla_Roadster


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